Facets
by Gerri
Summary: Pieces of a broken mirror each reflect a different image from a different angle. Each reflects the different people that X5494 has been in his life.


Disclaimer: Don't own Dark Angel, or its beautifully flawed characters.

A/N: I haven't seen Season Two yet; just the transcripts of DT and TBA; this piece was inspired by the broken mirror in TBA.

Facets

By Gerri

His fist connected with the mirror.

The silver-plated glass gave way and shattered beneath the force of his punch.

His fist snapped back, retracting with the same sharp immediacy that he'd used to lash out.

He stared at the fractured surface.

Dark crack lines promulgated in a radial pattern from the point of impact.

The mirror had broken into pieces, each piece showing a partial image of his face.

He stared. Two hazel eyes stared back at him, one on either side of a crack.

Two eyes filled with anger, loss, sadness, loss, desperation…and loss.

***

If 494 thought hard enough, he could vaguely remember a warm place, where it had been just him and another nameless presence. He could remember that presence; comforting, affectionate, and always near.

19 years later, that presence would gain a number.

493.

They told him that 493 had been terminated.

How 494 put two and two together and figured out that 493 was that nameless presence, he didn't know, but he just knew.

But 19 years later, that presence ceased to be comforting and affectionate.

That presence became a source of torment, a source of constant horror and fear.

And the two of them had been kept far apart; that presence had not been near for a long time. For such a long time that 494 had never missed it.

The presence had never been near after they had left that warm place, and it was no longer comforting or affectionate.

The world that 493 and 494 had been born into had never held such ideals, anyway.

493 and 494 had always been on different sides.

Just like the two half-images in the cracked mirror, separated by a crack; they would never meet, never touch, and never be complete.

But it was more than a crack that kept 493 and 494 apart.

493 had escaped. 494 had remained.

493 had known freedom. 494 had never even heard the word.

493 had run from Manticore to make his own life in the world Outside.

Manticore's four walls embodied the only life that 494 had known.

493 had tried to make himself a life in the world Outside. Only to find that everyone out there was different. **He** was different from everyone Outside.

There had been too much to understand. Too much that he **couldn't** understand.

493 had tried to be ordinary.

But he had failed, all his dreams of normalcy slipping through his fingers as his mind and reason slipped away.

493 had died trying to be ordinary.

494 had been older when he left Manticore. Smarter.

494 had not taken 493's path.

493 had pursued his dreams of normalcy, only to have them remain always out of reach.

But 494 had been older, and smarter than 493 had been. 494 understood how the world saw him. 494 knew that he was different, and no matter how much it hurt, he knew that he would **never** be normal. 494 had adapted.

So while 493 had died pursuing an ordinary life, 494 simply adapted and conformed to "ordinary" society.

***

He wasn't 494 anymore, but 494 was still in him, somewhere.

494 reminded him of what he had been before now.

His gaze shifted. Away from the two half-images that had somehow named themselves "493" and "494".

Lower down, there was a shard that caught his reflection from an angle that made a drop of water on his cheek glisten.

***

Jamie was the ten-year-old boy who had showed up on Doctor Calden's doorstep, alone, with a broken arm, bloody scratches on his face, and dirt on his clothes, crying.

The doctor had quickly invited him in, concerned. The doctor had asked his name.

Jamie had told him his name, using the name that the officers had told him to use if he was asked.

When the doctor had turned to leave and get him bandages and food, Jamie had produced a gun from beneath his tattered clothes and shot the man in the back.

Still following orders, after that, he had gone back out to the van that was waiting, some distance away from the man's house. The van that would take him home.

He had been a good soldier. He had completed the mission.

Doctor Calden had worked for Manticore, but he had wanted to leave.

Manticore wanted to keep him quiet.

He had reported to the officers, saluting with his left hand, because he had to salute, but they had broken his right arm for the mission.

"Well done," the officer had said. "He was careless, really, to let you in like that. Report to the infirmary to get that arm splinted, 494."

The doctor at the infirmary had fixed his arm and told him that he could return to his barracks.

Jamie blended into 494's past.

***

His eyes moved again. Away from the image now named "Jamie".

He became aware of a faint, throbbing pain that originated from his knuckles.

He noticed another piece of broken glass that had some blood on one of its corners.

He was bleeding. Hence the pain.

***

Andrew was the thirteen-year-old who had broken away from the school group who had been touring a military facility. He had snuck away when no one was looking, and started planting the explosives in his bag around the facility, especially around the barracks and weapons stores, just like his orders had stated.

But Andrew had been careless.

A guard had caught him.

Andrew had been shot in the leg.

But Andrew remembered his training.

'Pain is all in your mind!'_ the officers had taught him. _'Your mind is a tool; it is easily manipulated; distract your mind from the pain, and you will feel nothing. Pain is **all** in **your mind**!'

So Andrew had killed the guard who had shot him, and gone on placing explosives.

Andrew had made his way back to Manticore while the military facility burned.

Andrew had completed the mission.

"We were informed that there was a slight hitch in your mission, 494. Care to explain?" the officer had asked.

He had said that he was careless, he was sorry; it would not happen again, sir.

"See that it doesn't, 494. Learn from your mistake. Report to the infirmary. When your wound has been treated, return to your barracks."

His wound had been treated, but he remembered that even though he had distracted his mind, his leg had still hurt.

And when he entered his barracks, Andrew turned into a whisper of the past.

***

A small flicker of hazel as his eyes moved once again. Away from the image named "Andrew".

And came to rest on the image in another sliver of silver-plated glass that only reflected his eyes.

***

Ryan was sixteen years old, and blind.

His orders were to proceed to a hospital, one that specifically treated people's eyes, to look for Doctor Rassen.

Doctor Rassen had developed cataracts in his eyes, so he had stopped working for Manticore.

The officers had told him that Manticore wanted to keep him quiet.

Ryan was Doctor Rassen's favourite nephew's name. Doctor Rassen had told the hospital staff that he wanted "Family Only" visitors.

The receptionist gave him Doctor Rassen's room number, and Doctor Rassen had been woken from sleep by a tightening cord about his neck. Doctor Rassen's fingers had pulled and scratched at the cord, but Ryan had just pulled harder, tightening it.

Ryan had completed the mission.

"Proceed back to your quarters," the officer had told him at the end of his debriefing.

When he entered the small cell, he was 494 once more, and Ryan, just one of the ghosts that surrounded him.

***

Hazel orbs shifted again. Away from the image named "Ryan".

There was another smaller piece that showed an image of only one of his eyes.

***

Jacob was eighteen and enlisting in the army.

His was a quick mission.

On his first night in camp, he broke into the munitions warehouse and single-handedly rigged bombs that made the whole camp go up in flames.

Jacob had completed the mission.

"Mission proceeded smoothly?" the officer had asked.

Yes, sir, he had replied.

The officer had looked him up and down, appraising him, a strange light of approval shining in his eyes.

"You're an efficient soldier, 494. Committee might have plans for you. Dismissed."

He had left the debriefing room, shedding Jacob like all the other past identities that he had shed before.

***

Hazel eyes roved again. Away from the image named "Jacob".

Coming to rest on a fragment that only reflected his mouth.

***

Simon Lehane.

494 had liked that name.

For once, he had a last name; two names, instead of just one.

His first deep-cover mission.

His target had been Robert Berrisford.

Berrisford's daughter had been his primary contact.

But one night, she had leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his; 494 had jerked away slightly at first, surprised and wary at the same time, having never known this sort of physical contact before.

But after that, he had relaxed.

He had let his guard down.

He became more Simon Lehane than 494.

494 no longer liked Simon Lehane.

494 had suffered for Simon Lehane's mistake.

494 despised Simon Lehane.

Simon Lehane was weak.

494 hated Simon Lehane.

Because Rachel Berrisford could love Simon Lehane, but she would never love 494.

***

His eyes closed for a few seconds; his eyelids, barriers against the images of his past.

He stepped back, away from the mirror.

Away from "Simon Lehane".

Away from "Jacob".

From "Ryan".

And "Andrew".

And "Jamie".

No more of those depthless identities. Mere names. Aliases.

494 was Alec now.

494 liked Alec.

Because Alec was strong.

Alec didn't let the broken world around him get to him. Alec held his own against anyone and everyone. Alec made the most of any situation. Alec took care of himself. Alec handled himself well in the world Outside.

He took another step, and felt the wall against his back.

494 liked Alec because he was stronger than "Jamie", "Andrew", "Ryan", "Jacob", and "Simon Lehane" all put together.

Of course Alec had to be stronger.

Because he carried all of them around with him.

He crumpled, slid down against the wall, and cried.

End.


End file.
